Letters To My Daddy
by loveJASPERhale
Summary: Whilst he was in the army, before he was turned, Jasper had a child. But he never returned from the war. His daughter, Ada, was found by a vengeful Maria and turned. What will happen when Ada goes to look for the father she never knew...?
1. Preface

Sorry if this isn't very good... I've only done the Preface so far. (:

I don't own Twilight or any of the characters...

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A band of black night sky stretched over the small houses of the dark Texan town. There were no stars to penetrate the gloom, gloom that seemed to strangle all visible life out of the place. The low call of a bird echoed miserably around, reverberating off walls and windows.

Through one such glass window - one that was smudged with dust as though it had been left without cleaning through stifling heat and unbearable cold – a young woman could be seen. The room around her was dim, the lights extinguished. The woman wore a white nightgown edged with lace – the darkness hid the worn edges. Her skin was tanned from a life under the sun, her eyes a warm brown, her hair slightly darker than her eyes. She was slight, very small and petite, like a ballerina revolving inside a music box. But the burden in her arms destroyed this image.

Wrapped in a thick blanket was a baby. The infant's features were hard to distinguish in the light, but it did not look much older than a few months. It's head was downy and it's large, dark, pool-like eyes were open wide. The woman was not looking at her child as she rocked it – she was staring out of a window, her mouth moving to the shape of the lullaby she was singing. The words seemed to meld themselves together to a soft, soothing beat, the words trilled out in Mexican.

The woman, who really looked no older than eighteen or nineteen, glanced away from the window, her eyes suddenly narrowing. She held the baby close to her white-clad chest, crystalline droplets suddenly rolling down her smooth cheeks. Her voice was soft, but puckered with sobs as she murmured to her child. "Let's pray my preciosamente uno. My little Ada." The woman pushed back the blanket and pressed her lips to the baby's wrinkled forehead. She looked out of the window again, the faint moonlight catching on the tears on her face and making them glimmer ironically.

"Please, if you are up there, God, please, protect my Jasper," the woman whispered. "Please, do whatever you can. He must come home. He has to." Her voice broke. "I can't lose him, not now… My little one can't grow up without a father. Please, protect him. I love him. We love him." The woman bowed her head. "Amen."

Her chin fell onto her chest, and the dark, silent night wore on.

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Reviews would be greatly appreciated, suggestions, criticism?

Thankyou!


	2. Revenge

I don't own Twilight...

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The sun was a round, shining orb that poured heat down onto the small, dusty Texan town. There were small children running around the sandy roads, giggling and squealing happily as they chased eachother. An old woman with a hunched back, wrapped in rags, was hobbling down the sidewalk. It was a scorching summer's day, and nobody was inside.

Upon a low wall sat a girl of about sixteen years. She was swinging her long legs as she sang out to the blue skies, her voice pure and beautiful. She raised her face to the sun, shutting her eyes. Her skin was browned by the sun, her hair a dirty blonde – gold shot through with brown. She wore a simple dress, and her hair was loose. She wore nothing on her feet. On the wall beside her was a basket of eggs. The girl continued to sing to herself as she grabbed the basket by its handle, and leapt from the wall.

She walked comfortably down the hot street. Nobody turned to look at her, despite her lack of footwear and loud singing. She flicked back a strand of long hair from her face as she walked. Her tanned skin showed no signs of heat, but there was no way she could not be feeling it. The girl passed a small shop, surrounded by a gaggle of young boys. They were shoving past eachother and laughing raucously. The girl smiled at the sight. She loved summer – so happy and carefree. Not like winter, when times were hard.

The girl's route took her around a corner into an area of housing. The place was nothing special, but the residents there seemed to be as joyous as the squealing boys. One woman with a scarf wrapped around her head was humming as she hung some wet clothes on a string outside her home. She smiled and called a greeting to the girl as she passed, as though they were acquaintances. The girl lifted a hand to return the greeting, her mouth stretching into a smile.

Her feet passed by a few more houses before she turned to walk towards one rather than past it. The girl pushed at the wooden door. It creaked loudly, before swinging inwards. Inside, light poured in through the square-cut windows. The room directly through the door was fairly large, with a fireplace, table and chairs. There was a single passageway leading away from the room. Still cheerily singing, the girl plonked the basket down on the small, round table and ran her hands through her long hair.

"Ada? Ada, is that you?" The voice came from somewhere in the house, but its owner could not be seen. It was definitely female, but not flavoured by a Texan accent. It was more Mexican. The girl blinked, clearly having been addressed. She dropped her hands. "Yes, Mother, it's me!" she called back. Her voice was different – definitely Texan. A few moments later, a small woman bustled into the room. Her hair was thick and maple-brown and her skin tanned. There was something in the structure of her face that linked her to the girl – her daughter.

"You got the eggs?" the woman continued. Ada gestured towards the basket on the table, a very small, curved smile crossing her face. It accentuated her pretty, sun-warmed features and suited her face. "Right there," she said in confirmation, before drifting to the empty fireplace. The woman began to inspect the eggs, as though she suspected her daughter of clumsiness. Ada sat cross-legged on the floor, on a white rug that had been laid out over the stone floor. There was a pile of fabrics there, which she began to fiddle with, sifting through them with her brown fingers.

"Ada...?" This time, her mother's voice was different. Softer. Wary. Ada looked up from the pool of different coloured fabrics around her, her eyes wide and innocent in her face. "Yes, mother? What is it?" She seemed genuinely worried, for she sprung upright and walked swiftly to the table, placing a hand on her mother's elbow. A faint crease appeared between her thin, golden brown eyebrows. Her mother sighed, looking down so that her face was no so visible.

"You... You know what day it is, right?" She eventually choked out. Ada's frown deepened. She removed her hand and stroked her chin with one outstretched finger, as though scouring her brain for any significant information. "I... I..." Her mother looked up finally. Her dark eyes were glazed, as though tears were filling them. "Today is the day that your father was supposed to return from the war, fifteen years ago," she said her voice barely a whisper.

Ada's hand flew to her lips, almost stifling the gasp that she sucked in through them. She took a step back from her mother, her expression changing from shock to shame. "Oh mother... I knew, I did... I just... It just slipped my mind." She bit the inside of her mouth, unsure how to make things right, or if her mother's tears were down to her foolish forgetfulness, or just the echoed sadness of the date.

Her mother smiled at her, though it was a strained affair. "I know, Ada," she said. She stepped towards her daughter, and hugged her close. Ada laid her head on her mother's shoulder, exhaling deeply through her nose. "I know you never knew him, but... But your father was a great man." Her mother lifted a hand to her eyes, as though she didn't want her daughter to witness her crying. "He loved me, and supported me, even when he was at war. He only saw you once... When you were tiny, just a tiny thing. Hours old." Ada breathed in, finding that the air snatched in her throat as though something had tried to steal it away. She was a little surprised to feel cool droplets rolling down her own cheeks, now.

Ada pulled away from her mother, leaving her hands on the older woman's shoulders. "Mother, you never know, he could be alive. They never a body, he just disappeared..." Ada's voice was earnest, but her mother shut her eyes with a wistful smile, and shook her head. The tears on her face were crystalline, and glittered in the sunlight which trickled through the window. "No, Ada. We have to accept it," she told her daughter, kissing her on top of her head. "Your father is dead. He was killed in the war. They may not have found his body, but it is true."

Ada sniffed. She'd always known this to be true, at the back of her mind, but liked to deny it. She liked to cling to any hope that she had a father out there, one that was alive and wanted to find her. But perhaps it was time she accepted that he was dead. She was sixteen, and starting to take on more responsibilities. It didn't do to dwell on childish fantasies. Plenty of the girls in the little town had lost their father's in the war. It wasn't like she was alone in this misery.

"I... I suppose so," she replied eventually, looking down at her feet. Her mother placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her daughter's face so that their eyes met. Ada's face was tearful, her mother's the same – but a new emotion blazed in her eyes. "Ada... There's a place I like to go, every year, on this day, or near it," she said. "A place your father and I were fond of. Do you think that this year, you would like to accompany me?"

Ada blinked silently for a minute or two. Her mother had never told her this. Perhaps she had always thought her too immature, that that her harboured hopes for her father were too high to be quashed. She sighed. This would mean fully accepting that her father was dead. She forced a smile and nodded. "I'd like that, mother."

Her mother's smile was piercing. She had obviously been waiting a long time for somebody to share her grief with. "We should probably leave soon," she told her daughter. "The sun won't tell us when night is falling – not in the summer." Ada nodded, and turned to fetch a scarf from the small room in which she and her mother slept. It would be hot, so she would need to keep her hair off her neck and face. She knew this from experience.

She stopped as her mother cupped her cheek with one hand. "Are you sure you're up for this, Ada?" she asked, her voice punctured with uncertainty. Ada nodded, suddenly determined. She was not a girl anymore – she was woman, a woman that would be strong and accept her father was dead; accept it and mourn him. Her mother's smile returned, so grateful and joyous. "That's my little estrella," she whispered. Ada smiled and disappeared from the room. Energy flooded her body and limbs. She could do this. She was ready.

She returned, scarf wrapped about her head so that her golden hair could not escape and cause her to overheat. She took her mother's arm and together they left the house. The children still skittered about in the street, though the younger ones were now fleeing from their mother's, who were angrily calling for them to come inside. Ada laughed out loud at their antics. She had forgotten what it was like to be so young and free of worry. She then grinned at herself – only an hour or so ago she had been enjoying the freedom of summer. How ironic.

It did not take long for her mother to lead her to the place she had spoken of it. It was just outside the little town, a field filled with crops. There was a strip of crisp, drying grass just beside the farmland. It was here that mother and daughter settled side by side, watching the sun.

Some hours later, the sky that blackened. The sun had gradually lost height, and gone to sleep. It was very late – her mother's words had been true – the sun was treacherous in summer. Ada squeezed her mother's hand in the darkness. She could barely see her through the gloom. But both of them had been determined to sit out the long, sunny hours. Ada lifted her free hand to pull the scarf from around her head. It was nowhere near as hot now that the sun had decided to rest its fiery head.

A tug on her arm told her to rise. Ada obeyed and, still close, the two began the short journey back home. They were careful to keep their footsteps quiet so as not to disturb anybody, or to attract unwanted attention. But attention was heading their way, wanted or no...

He two were treading the familiar street that led to their home when something landed before them with a very light thud, like something soft falling earthward. Faint light ghosted from one of the upper windows of a nearby house, revealing the thing before them.

It was a girl, about Ada's age. But she did not look frightened, as she should have, being out so late, alone. Her face was beautiful in an unearthly way. Her eyes were narrowed, her brow furrowed, her body radiating anger. But the strangest, most terrifying factor of her appearance was her eyes. Blood-red. Not brown or even blue or green. As red as freshly spilt blood.

"I've been waiting for this," the girl said. Her voice was like music, soft and dainty. It did not suit her frightening features. Her eyes shifted from Ada to her mother. "Hello, Celeste." Ada blinked. Did her mother know this demonic girl? How did she know her mother's name, otherwise? "What? I... I... I don't know you," her mother's voice was scared and confused. She was obviously as clueless and panic-stricken as Ada.

"It's nice to meet your daughter," continued the girl. "Hello, Miss Hale. Like your father, aren't you?" Ada's mind went blank with shock. This girl knew her father. But... How was that possible? The girl was the same age as her, and her father had disappeared – no, died – fifteen years ago. It did not add up. Ada stared at the girl in fright and confusion.

"Don't bother your pretty head about it," the girl continued. She took a few steps closer, stretching out one hand. Ada noticed the ghostly white hue of her skin. She had never seen anything quite like it before. "But you must promise me this. You – one of you – will tell Jasper that I got my revenge, won't you? If you ever see him again?"

Ada's mind spiralled in fear. Revenge? What was this girl talking about? Was she mad? Her gaze met the girl's, and suddenly, everything turned blood red.

And the world dissolved into scarlet screams.

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Thanks for all the reviews! I wasn't expecting any, so thanks so much!

By the way, I have no idea what Texas was like in those days, so if I'm wrong, sorry...

Reviews are appreciated! Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read this!


	3. Searching

Okay, before you read this, I know my story is a bit wrong in terms of the timeline. (Thanks to those who pointed that out, by the way! =] ) But it'd be too complicated to change it, so... Hopefully you guys don't mind too much...?

I own none of the Twilight characters...

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It was raining. The fat, clear droplets fell like tears from the grey sky, splashing onto anything and everything it could possibly reach. There was nobody around. The road was quiet and empty. The only signs of movement were a stray cat shivering under a parked car, and a plastic bag sailing like some lost ship over the streaming road. A large road sign standing in the now-marshy grass which bordered the road read 'Welcome to Forks'. The words screamed small town. The sort of small town in which everybody knew everybody and everybody knew where they stood.

To say the street was entirely empty would be a lie. There was a figure, stood just before the sign. Not quite part of the town, but too close to not be linked to it somehow. The figure's clothes had clearly not been crafted to keep out yet. Her thin jeans were sodden, the sweatshirt upon her upper body was blotched with dark patches of ink-like wet, and curiously, her feet were bare. The hood of the sweatshirt was pulled up over her face so that features were partially obscured, but as she raised her head to once again peer at the sign, it slid back a fraction and her features were revealed.

Her hair was pulled back from her face by the hood, but a few strands had fallen loose. It was a pure, pale gold, the sort of colour that would darken in sunlight. Her skin was a ghostly pale, almost like the drained skin of a corpse – but it did not carry that waxy sheen. It seemed to shimmer with star-like beauty, even in the gloomy wash of colour painted by the overcast skies. Her eyes were wide, thickly-lashed, and a dark mahogany colour. The hue was sleek chocolate, but when the light hit it, flashes of red skittered across like bugs on the surface of a lake.

The girl looked around her mid-teens, fifteen or sixteen at the most. But she was, without doubt, completely and enthrallingly beautiful. Even with her body concealed by her clothes, she would make any grown man stop and stare.

The girl lowered her head with an air of finality, tugging the hood over her face once more. One might ask why she would want to hide such exquisite features – but the reason remained a mystery as the girl walked on past the sign and into the town of Forks. The town was pretty much deserted, just like the road leading into it. The girl did not stop, did not glance up from her feet as she walked. Her steps were fast, as though she was hurrying, but the rest of her body did not reflect this. She was not gasping for breath, or slumping forwards. She continued forward, her posture tight.

Her route did not take her down any of the little winding paths, which joined onto other snaking pavements and led into buildings. She seemed to be heading for a dark, foreboding bank of trees. The forest screamed danger in the form of animals, treacherous branches, roots, and whatnot. But still the girl walked on. There was no trace of defiance or determination in her step, but neither was there the panicked hesitation that belonged to fear. But there was purpose all right.

The girl left the path. Curiously, her bare feet made no sound on the wet stone, not even the usual slapping sounds that announced walking. A car trundled along the road, the eye-like lights casting milky beams of light onto the dark road. The driver slapped angrily at the steering wheel, causing a loud, shrill tone to shoot into the sky, shattering the silence as easily as a foot thrust through a mirror. The girl did not look up at the noise, though if you had been looking at her from the front you would have seen the corners of her eyes wrinkle slightly, as though the noise had hurt her ears.

The driver was winding down his window, as though to shout at her, but she had already drifted across the road like a spectre and disappeared into the trees. The girl pulled down her hood in the shelter of the trees. Her alabaster skin gleamed with wet. She pulled her hair from where it was tucked into the back of her sweatshirt. It swung free, a long golden waterfall which trickled down to nearly touch her waist. Her dark eyes reflected a mixture of emotions as she trailed her arms behind her. Only the tips of her fingers, long and as white as snow, showed from the overlong sleeves of the sweatshirt. She trailed them over the trees, her nails catching in the ruts cut into the rough bark.

Gradually, the girl's pace increased. Her arms withdrew, and she broke into a run as quickly and fluidly as any deer in flight. She ran at impossible, inhuman speed, a streak of lightning through the tall, willowy trees which looked on as if in bewilderment. At this speed, the forest was soon left behind. The girl slowly brought her feet back to a jogging pace, to stop at the edge of a bank of trees. A clearing stretched out before her. It was large, and not exactly round, but not square, either. And built in the middle of the glade was a house.

The house was large, and seemed to be mainly made up of corners. Most of what could be seen was white-painted or glass that allowed an onlooker to gaze inside. But the girl was not doing so. Her eyes were fixed on the wooden front door, tracing its every outline, every contour, as though her life depended on it. It took her a moment to move, as if she were digesting her find. But after this short amount of time has passed, she stepped once more from the shelter of the trees and walked along the strip of grass to the gravel driveway.

The sharp stones crunched under her bare feet, but she did not wince. The shards did not seem to be hurting her at all, not even breaking the skin. The rain fell steadily down her ghostly-pale face like tears, dotting her golden hair. But she didn't raise a hand to pull her hood up. She remained in the same position, walking at the same measured pace, as though she were thinking over her every move – all the way to the threshold.

When she stood there, her bare feet pressing damp footprints into the grey stone, the girl stopped. It seemed she had done all of her psyching up whilst stood under the cover of the trees' arms, for she lifted her hand without a moment's hesitation and pressed the doorbell firmly with the tip of one finger. The tone rang out serenely on the other side, sounding muted to her ears.

The expected lull before the door opened was obviously shorter than the girl had anticipated. It swung inwards around five or six seconds after she touched the doorbell. The person stood at the door was very small, but did not look quite so stood before the girl. Her hair was teased and spiked, and ebony in colour. Her skin was as pale as the girl's, and her eyes were honey-coloured.

"Hello?" The short girl stood in the doorway posed the words as a question, but they were oddly filled with excitement, as though she had been expecting a visitor.

The visitor herself looked down for a moment, and then raised her head as though somebody had forced her to look up. The emotion in her dark eyes was something akin to blazing determination. "Hello," she responded. Both girls had lovely voices – high-pitched and with a perfect rhythm, like the voice of a practised vocalist.

"What can I do for you?" Again, the pixie-like girl sounded almost impatient, as if she couldn't rouse quite enough energy to question the visitor thoroughly. She tapped one foot on the doormat just inside the house. The silver ballet shoe glittered with sequins.

The blonde-haired girl took a deep breath, though just a moment ago she had been utterly still, not even drawing air into her lungs. She swept back a strand of hair from her finely-boned face and spoke.

"I am looking for my father; Jasper Hale."

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Sorry for the short chapter. =/

I'm hoping the next one will be longer.

Thanks to all your nice reviews and helpful comments. I've tried to improve based on your advice. =] Reviews are welcome – they really help with muse.

Thanks!


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